


apology

by Thealmostrhetoricalquestion



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, M/M, Marauders' Era, One Shot, Pre-Slash, THAT SCENE
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-10
Updated: 2017-06-10
Packaged: 2018-11-12 13:28:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11162808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thealmostrhetoricalquestion/pseuds/Thealmostrhetoricalquestion
Summary: “Nothing happened, Remus,” James promises him. “I stopped him before he got too far and we drove you back in here before anything could happen. Snape saw you, but Dumbledore’s sworn him to secrecy, and he’s not going to say anything. He wouldn’t dare say anything.”Remus can barely hear him.





	apology

**Author's Note:**

> I know this has probably been done a thousand times before, but this is just my interpretation of how this scene might go, the morning after the confrontation between Snape and Sirius and Remus went down? I just feel like there would be a heavy amount of panic and sadness going on, even though we don't know the full story. I don't know if it's accurate or good characterisation, I'm just trying new characters out, and I love Remus, so. I wanted to do this. Thank you!

It’s the morning after the full moon, so Remus expects the usual aches and pains, but he hasn’t felt pain like this in a long time. The usual warmth at his side that he equates with Sirius is absent, and there’s the faintest pressure at his feet that suggests that Peter is still there, but he can’t feel James either. He cracks open his eyes, feeling as though they’re glued shut, and peers at the ceiling. Light filters in through the cracks in the boarded up windows, illuminating patches of dirt and blood on the walls, and thick swirls of dust fills the air. It’s not the nicest way to wake up, but Remus was accustomed to it before his friends became creatures for his benefit, and he can adapt again, even if he’s not sure why he has to.

He sits up slowly, taking stock of his ribs. He dances his fingers up his stomach, which feels like one big bruise, and shifts the ragged blanket out of the way, wincing when he spots the splotches of black and blue all over his pale skin. Nothing feels broken, but he’s definitely done himself an injury elsewhere; his back creaks painfully as he moves, and there’s blood on his hands, on his arms, scratches all over his skin. The wolf was angry last night, that’s for sure, and Remus’ heart starts to trip over itself, because he can’t remember anything.

He can always remember. He can always remember how he bites and scratches at his own flesh, how he howls and snarls at his own shadow, how he rips apart the rooms as though the furniture is made of butter. And recently, he can remember the nervous jaunts into the forest, the warmth and calming presence of three other lifeforms, friends, the joy he feels racing through the forest. He remembers the wind whipping at his fur and the scents that cloud his mind and a stag and a dog and a rat.

But last night is empty. He just catches flashes of anger, or rage, and fear, although he can’t tell if it’s his fear or someone else’s.

“Moony.”

Remus glances up to find James sitting on a rickety chair beside the wall. He looks tired, solemn in a way that James never is, a frown tilting down a mouth that should always be smiling. He watches Remus carefully, searching for a sign, a hint of emotion, but all Remus feels is pain and fatigue, tiredness washing over him.

“Something happened,” Remus says. It isn’t a question. He looks down again, at Peter, who’s curled up near his feet, watching Remus steadily. Remus has always liked Peter’s steadiness, which combats his nervousness in the best way. Remus is the controlled one, the one who has the answers, the one who stays calm enough to think of a plan when they need one, but Peter is the steady one. Peter is their rock, albeit a rather small, anxious rock.

“Something happened,” James agrees. “How do you feel?”

“Like I turned into a werewolf last night,” Remus says, voice a little clipped. He’s beginning to get anxious now, and he hasn’t missed the fact that Sirius still isn’t here. If Remus concentrates hard, he can hear the creak of floorboards outside of the room, gentle enough that he can ignore them if he chooses. He ignores them.

“Are you hurt?” James asks, still with that same serious face. 

“Well, obviously,” Remus quips, rolling his eyes. “But it’s nothing I can’t handle.”

He gets up carefully, shifting the blanket as he reaches for the pile of clothes beside James. After a beat, James stands and comes to hand Remus his clothes, shifting uncomfortably on his feet like he wants to _do_ something. Instead he just stands there whilst Remus struggles into his trousers and shirt. He fiddles with the buttons but gives up after a moment, exhausted.

“Are you going to tell me what happened?”

James’ mouth works for a moment, but nothing comes out. That, more than anything, frightens Remus. James is always talking, always laughing. Even when he’s quiet, he’s not _silent_ , but now Remus can barely hear more than a whisper as he breathes in and out, trying to keep calm.

Instead of answering, James stoops a little and busies himself with Remus’ buttons. Remus makes a small noise but doesn’t fight him off; they’ve never been particularly concerned with boundaries, any of them, and James is always a little more clingy after Remus transforms, even if nothing eventful happens. It’s the principle of the thing, Remus thinks. That, and James likes taking care of his friends.

“Peter, where’s Sirius?” Remus asks, and James’ hand slips on Remus’ shirt, grazing the cut that spans the length of his chest. Remus winces and gently moves James’ hands away. “Where’s Sirius? What happened?”

His pulse picks up speed all of a sudden as a thought occurs to him. “Is he hurt? Did I hurt him?”

“No,” James says immediately, almost spitting the words out. “You didn’t do anything, Moony. This wasn’t your fault, not even a little bit.”

Remus simply blinks at him, panic stirring in his gut. Peter sighs from beside him, sitting up on the bed and folding his legs under him. James bites his lip. The floorboards creak apologetically.

“What happened?”

Remus only catches bits of his explanation, in the end. For a while, James talks in stops and starts, and then the whole story pours out like a damn breaking, with enough force to leave Remus winded, blinking wildly. A story about Severus and James and Sirius, and Remus, unknowingly dragged into it, and _Sirius_. Sirius.

“Nothing happened, Remus,” James promises him. “I stopped him before he got too far and we drove you back in here before anything could happen. Snape saw you, but Dumbledore’s sworn him to secrecy, and he’s not going to say anything. He wouldn’t dare say anything.”

Remus can barely hear him. He’s still stuck on the fact that someone saw him – Snape, of all people – that they saw him and that he wanted to get to them, hurt them, would have killed them given half the chance. He remembers the anger and the fear that he tasted last night and he knows it came from everyone in this room, and those that weren’t, and he wonders what the _fuck_ Sirius was thinking.

“He wasn’t thinking at all,” James says tightly.

Merlin, what if it gets out? What if someone finds out that Dumbledore knowingly let a dangerous creature into a school full of children? What if people find out that he almost killed someone, a child? What if it gets out? What then? He’ll have to leave, and go home, and hide. Will people hunt him down? There are no laws against harming people like him, and people have little sympathy for monsters with no control over their monstrous side.

“Nobody’s going to find out, Moony,” Peter says, leaning in and grasping his shoulder tightly, eyes watery with sympathy. “Dumbledore will keep it all hushed up, and nobody will be any the wiser. You won’t have to leave.”

“You’re safe,” James promises.

Sirius stands outside of the room, in the quiet morning air, fists clenched at his sides as he watches Remus shake and wheeze his way through a panic attack. He knows the anger will come later, as it always does with Remus; Remus is the softest of them all, but he’s also the sharpest, the one who holds grudges the longest, the one who fights with his words and his teeth and the one who’s surprisingly cold when he needs to be. Sirius has always loved that, this bundle of contrasting elements that make up one of his best friends, the boy he loves, but he has a feeling that it’s going to bite him in the ass this time, that Remus is going to turn all that sharpness on him, instead, and by fuck, he deserves it, but that doesn’t mean he _wants_ it.

He wants nothing more than to step into that room, gather Remus up and apologise, over and over, even if it’s awkward and uncomfortable, even if Remus hits him or worse, cries on him. The words sit heavy on his tongue, unspoken, and he clenches his fists because he knows if he takes one single step into that room, James will…

He’s seen James angry before, but not like this.

He’s going to have to make it up to all of them, he knows, and he’s fine with that, but for now he just stands there, wracked with guilt and regret, breathing silent apologies into the air.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you liked that, please leave me some feedback if you wouldn't mind, I'd love to hear from you. And thank you so much! You can come and chat to me @thealmostrhetoricalquestion on tumblr if you like :) Thank you!


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